


Stag Party

by sumomomochi



Series: The 'Verse in Which Dirk is Anime Horatio Caine [6]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Breathplay, Consensual Kink, Dom John, Dom/sub, Frottage, Kinbaku (Japanese Rope Bondage), M/M, Oral Sex, Rope Bondage, Sensory Deprivation, Sub Dave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:37:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumomomochi/pseuds/sumomomochi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John sucks dick and Dave ascends to raptor tier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this part is probably not as silly as the summary would suggest o 3o

EB : so um.  
EB : tying you up....  
TG : yeah  
TG : what about it  
EB : do you like, have stuff to do that with?  
TG : yeah probably  
TG : should have some cuffs somewhere  
TG : i take it youre coming over  
EB : yep! just about to get on the bus actually :)  
TG : sweet ill find the cuffs then

**=== >**

You know it’s one of the nights Dirk works late. That’s why you decided on tonight in the first place, even though you’re sure he totally knows you plan on defiling his brother, letting you slip by on his way out the door with a fistbump. Dave’s leaning against one of the kitchen counters, a bowl balanced on the tip of his fingers and against his chest while he eats standing up like a dork.

He smiles around his fork when he sees you; “Hey babe.”

You grin back and hike yourself up onto the counter next to him, shoulder to shoulder while he eats (ramen, gross, but at least he’s got bits of lunch meat and carrots in there too; your influence has been a good one). You talk quietly about nothing while he finishes his dinner, trying not to swing your legs.

The instant he sets his bowl down, you’re on him, sliding off the counter.

“Handcuffs?”

He looks kind of surprised at that, which is funny because you _totally_ told him that’s what’s going down tonight.

“Uh, yeah. In my room.”

You follow him down the hall and it’s really cute how, with a single word, he’s fallen subservient. He’s such a perfect little sub; just thinking about how great he is for you makes you giddy. And it makes your pants a little tight.

He stands demurely in the middle of the room after he gestures towards his desk, where a pair of leather shackles lay. You try to contain your grin -- you’re really excited about this! Bondage is one of your favourite things! You’ve just been pretty hesitant about it since actually getting together with Dave; restraining his arms has always ended up with dislocated shoulders, which isn’t cool. You know you’re boyfriend does actually like pain. It’s pretty obvious from how he reacts, but you’re not actually a sadist, for all your dominate preferences, and you’d really rather not hurt him.

Buuuut if he says he’ll be fine, you’re more than willing to tie him up and have your wicked way with him!

The cuffs are solid and supple, lined with fake red fur with a heavy carabiner hanging off one of the d-rings. You suddenly understand what that nylon strap between his mattress and his headboard is for.

(It never occurred to you that it could be for tying up purposes, since you like actually tying your sub up, but unlike rope, there’s no way you could attach the carabiner to the wood slats in his bed frame.)

Dave’s standing patiently, waiting for you to say the word, any word, hands clasped in front of him with impeccable posture and downcast eyes. His breath hitches when you step in front of him, sliding your hands under the bottom of his shirt. He raises his arms obediently, pulling the shirt off all the way without you having to say a word. Your hands migrate to the top of his jeans, thumbs brushing over tiny dark spots of bruising and his wiggly blue veins just under the surface.

You get his pants undone and down his legs without issue, and he steps out of them smoothly when you nudge him back a little, sitting on the edge of the bed.

The cuffs, however, are a total dick pain. He laughs when you try to wrap one around his wrist, the padded part folding weird and the strap with the buckle flopping every which way but where you want it. You give up pretty quickly and Dave takes over, folding the leather around his wrist and fastening the buckle one handed without an issue.

“Show off,” you grumble, attempting the cuff for his left hand.

He placates, “Naw, these are just finicky.”

You manage to get it folded right, strap in through the buckle, with a little help. It’s still way harder than it needs to be. There’s a reason you prefer rope after all, and it’s not just because your dad would ask awkward questions if he found you with a pair of handcuffs.

“Gotta go a little tighter, babe,” Dave tells you, and you scowl at the stupid cuff when it fails to cooperate. He snickers and smooths out the overlap for you and the buckle neatly falls into place.

They look good on him though, thick and solid around his slender wrists.

“Can I blindfold you too?”

He shrugs and agrees and follows your hands as you guide him back where you want him, down the middle of the bed. You straddle his waist to dig the strap out from behind his pillows, snapping the carabiner into place to lock his arms above his head. You pull a sleep mask from your pocket and settle it over his head.

“Good?”

He nods and you try not to giggle. The sleep mask originally came from some stupid spa gift basket thing Jade got while you were dating, so it’s polkadotted with “Sleeping Beauty” across it in flowery script, but for how silly it looks, it does a really great job blocking out the light. You make a stupid face at him anyway, just to be sure he can’t see you, and he doesn’t even twitch. Mission accomplished.

You climb off him carefully, standing back to admire your handiwork.

He’s breathing slow, but shallow, stretched out in a long line with a faint blush that travels all the way down his neck and the starts of a real boner.

You debate getting undressed as you circle the bed, watching as Dave tilts his head just a tiny bit, following the sounds of your jeans rustling. On one hand, it’s nice being naked during sex. On the other hand, Dave really, really likes you dressed when you dominate him. You compromise, pulling your shirt over your head and your belt from around your hips.

His breath hitches at the sound of your belt snapping out of it’s loops, hips twitching up. You lean over him, hand braced against his headboard to keep your weight on the bed from betraying you, and he gasps when you run your fingers down his chest. His flush darkens when you chuckle; his dick is definitely hard now.

He bites his lip when you pull your hand away, gasps when you press your lips to his. It’s a really awkward position for you, but worth it for the way he jumps when you kneel on the bed next to his legs immediately after. He totally had no idea where you were.

You put your hand on his dick without warning and he jerks into your touch, hissing a curse. It doesn’t take much more before he’s groaning with every breath, head tilted back as you pump his girth.

He jerks on his restraints when drag your tongue along one hipbone, adjusting how you kneel over him. He falls into his desperate, curse filled word vomit as soon as you press wet lips to his junk, gasping and begging while you kiss his dick.

Which is weird, you’re not going to lie, but not any grosser than going down on a girl, you guess. It’s a lot less messy, at any rate, and the way he squirms under the inexperienced ministrations of your mouth is spectacular. And besides, it’s Dave. You can totally suck your boyfriend’s dick.

You find it doesn’t like, taste bad or anything when you lick a short wet stripe up the bottom. It’s skin, and it tastes just like the rest of him, smells like skin and soap and sex. You’ve spent way too long sniffing his underwear to actually be phased by his dick in your face.

You’ve no idea what you’re doing though. Being on this end of a dong is a little intimidating.

You suppose you could just do what you like. You actually _have_ a dick yourself, been on the receiving end of plenty of head, so unlike your first time eating out a girl, you actually know how it goes.

You’re sure Dave will enjoy himself, even if you suck at sucking dick.

You find that precome taste gross, and that it’s slimy against your lips, but Dave seems to share your enjoyment of a tongue against the slit, and it’s worth it for the way Dave arches, keening, as you wrap your lips around the head of his dick. You squeeze the base of his dick with your hand, pressing your tongue against the tendon just under the v of his head. He chokes on a curse and you fight a smug grin, hollowing your cheeks in suction. You can hear him yank on the cuffs again, dick hard in your jeans, and you really want to whisper dirty things against his throat, make whine and beg and squirm under you even more than he already is.

That can wait ‘til later though. He’s tied up and at your mercy, after all.

Your teeth catch on the flare of his head when you pull your mouth off his dick, but he just groans and you go to tongue at the edge of his foreskin. Your shoulder and back are already protesting your position, but you love the way he whines your name as you trail your lips back up his length, swallowing down as much as you can. It’s not a whole lot, admittedly, but Dave is doing exactly the opposite of complaining. You bob your head awkwardly, careful of your teeth with your tongue pressed against the underside.

Dave makes it look so easy but it’s really not.

It takes hardly any time before your jaw starts to ache on top of your back and the shoulder carrying your weight, and you pull away just in time to lap away a fresh bead of pre. It explodes across your tongue and it’s just as gross the second time around.

(It also somehow reminds you a little of the popping bubbles you like to get in boba tea, which you think might ruin the combination for you.)

Dave makes a little noise when you settle between his spread legs, quiet compared to his previous moaning. You smooth your hands down his thighs, palms firm against his skin, and grin at him even though he can’t see you. He’s chewed his lip cherry red, breathing hard through his nose now that you’re not sucking his dick. You can feel him curl and uncurl his toes against your calves and the tensing in his thighs as he rocks his hips ever so slightly, fighting to regain some calm while you just _watch_ him.

You can tell your quiet is making him antsy, and it’s really cute, but you want him to go back to being a gasping mess.

He swallows audibly when you crawl over him, lips to his neck and your denim clad crotch pressed to his thoroughly naked one.

“You’re so noisy,” you mock chide him, breath hot and voice low against his throat, “I’ll have to remember a bell for you next time so I can gag you too.”

He whimpers and you think he’s bitten down on his tongue to keep quiet.

“It’s okay. I like how noisy you are. I like it when you beg for me.”

“Fuck,” he breathes the curse, arching up to press as much of himself against you as he can, heels dug into the sheets.

“Maybe I should tie your legs down next time too. You’re awfully wiggly.”

He slumps down immediately, exhaling hard through his nose.

You purr, “And so eager to please, aren’t you?”

Dave nods and gasps, “Yes sir.”

You have to pull away a little so you’re not grinning like a doof against his skin and it takes you a moment to keep how totally chuffed you are from being noticeable in your voice when you next speak.

“How about you show me how eager to please you are,” you croon, grin turned devious. He gasps, confused, and you nip at his neck. “I never said anything about not liking the way you were rubbing yourself against me like a needy bitch, now did I?”

He rolls his hips back up against you, returning to balancing on just his shoulders and his heels. His dick is more against your stomach than _your_ dick, but it’s okay. You sit back just enough to matter and he hisses at the feel of denim against his groin. You can see how he’s clinging to the carabiner with a white knuckled grip, face pressed against his bicep as he pants, slack jawed and perfect.

He’s trying so hard to get off, humping you desperately and you don’t do a damn thing. You stay there above him, solid as a rock (in more ways than one), as he whimpers, writhing against you, lips turned down in a pout.

Five years does not seem like much of an age gap after all, not when you have him tied down and desperate for your dick.

Four years, whatever.

The point is, you have him tied down and desperate for your dick.

It takes nothing more than your hand against his sternum to have him flat on the bed again, legs bent with his knees at your shoulders. You undo your pants and he groans at the sound of your zipper descending.

“Be a good boy, Dave, and tell me what you want.”

His reply is instantaneous and he whispers, “Fuck me.”

“What was that?”

“Please fuck me, Sir,” he whines, arching his back again. 

You almost want to pretend you still can’t hear him, make him shout such obscenities, but it’s already almost ten and so you just go, “Hm, no.”

He slumps, dejected. 

It’s fascinating how he’s so much more animated in his sensory deprivation, more expression playing across just his lips and the set of his jaw than his whole face under normal circumstances. He’s just as much of a cockslut as usual though!

Wow, you’re sort of being a huge dick tonight.

You roll with it. Why not? Your sub likes to be humiliated, so you lean back over him, unclipping the cuffs and pulling him upright, kissing him chastely before you murmur, “I’m going to fuck your face, and if you’re good, maybe I’ll let you jerk off after.”

You get a long moment of stunned silence before he groans and nods, putty in your hands. You carefully guide him to the edge of the bed, hand on one of his elbows as he delicately searches out the floor with a foot. He finds it and half stands, half slithers to the carpet, wobbly and sex drunk and absolutely perfect. You crouch in front of him, cupping his face to kiss him softly, before you pull his arms behind his back, clipping the cuffs back together.

He’s leaned forward a little more than usual, back arched and chest thrust out and you think it might be to alleviate some pressure on his shoulders. You worry your lip a little; he’s not showing any obvious signs of pain, still slack jawed and panting and flushed hard, but he’s let his shoulder dislocate during scenes before without apparently giving a shit.

“Shoulders okay?” you ask him quietly, seriously. He nods immediately, enthusiastically, and you frown. “No, seriously, are they going to be okay?”

His teeth snap shut and he inhales, deep and slow, in through the mouth, out through the nose in classic meditation form. He does it twice more before he nods again, just as slow as his breathing.

“I’ll be fine,” he tells you, his voice wavering just the slightest bit, “just don’ jerk on them or leave me like this for too long.”

You kiss his forehead, fingers sliding over the short hair at the back of his head. “Okay,” you whisper to him, “But _tell me_ if they start causing trouble.”

He nods again with this tiny little hitch to his breathing. You pull away, standing over him, watch as he unconsciously tilts his face a little to follow your assent. You still have fingers in his hair and you pet his head a little more roughly than is probably nice, but he trembles deliciously in anticipation. His head isn’t pointed towards your face, not at all. He’s zeroed in on your dick, automatically gravitating towards your junk like adorably cock hungry sub he is.

You let his fervor grow until he’s wiggling, giddy as he pushes his head up into your hand like a cat. It’s really cute, but not the reaction you want so you yank his head back suddenly. He yelps, hips twitching as he shifts his weight to keep his balance. You almost want to take the blindfold off -- you love the look of surprise on his face, the way his eyes open wide, pupils blown huge until there’s hardly any iris left. But then, half the surprise right now comes from him being blinded.

You force his face forward and he scrambles to follow without falling. The cuffs clank behind him and you’re betting the only reason he’s staying upright is because you’re there touching him, grounding him. His entire world revolves around you right now and it is glorious.

He faceplants into your hip though and it takes some serious effort not to laugh and break the mood, except he groans, breath hot against your dick even through your boxers and scratch that. The way his face is mashed up against your junk is not funny _at all_. It’s hot as fuck. So is the way he has to lean into you now, his center of gravity off with no way for him to correct it, balanced on knees locked together and just the tips of his toes and his face against your dick.

You still have fingers in his hair, your grip relaxed, once again petting his head, and you feel like a bit of a skeevy dick bag when you cruelly rumble, “Well, my dick’s not gonna suck itself,” but he shudders head to toe and it’s not hard to imagine his eyes rolling back in his head. 

He carefully pushes himself up, spreads his knees as far as he can with your feet firmly planted on either side of his thighs, until he can press sloppy, wet kisses against the skin just above your pantline. You let him, even though you explicitly told him to do something. It feels like desperate thanks....

Like he’s saying grace, except that’s kind of fucked up.

It only takes a squeeze of the hair entwined around your fingers to gain his attention, to give him a silent order, and he gasps against your skin, nosing his way to your dick. His lips are wet and hot as he mouths against your dick, trying _so hard_ to get at it, tongue lapping at the fly of your shorts. Your boxers are soaked through with his spit in no time and he nips at the fabric, tries to catch it with his teeth. He manages with a fold just to the side of your dick, tugging at it effectively. 

His frustrated keen is cute as shit.

“Use your words, Dave,” you scold softly, scowling so you don’t smile.

“Help,” he breathes, almost a whine.

“Help with what?”

“You boxers, I can’t,” he huffs and does whine, “ _Please_!”

“Please what?”

“Take off your fuckin’ pants!” It’s almost a snarl, upset and desperate and you can understand why he’d spit it out like that, you really do, you’re being an awful tease and intentionally difficult but he should know his fucking place. He sways dangerously when you yank his head back again, forcing him to look at you even though his eyes are covered.

“You do _not_ take that tone with me,” you snap, nothing like your previous flippant berating, and he goes pale. You can feel hair tearing out in your fingers as he swallows hard, your grip on his head unforgiving. You hiss, “Do you understand?”

He sobs an affirmative, spewing apologies with his spit slick lips and you want to hush him, cuddle him and kiss him and tell him it’s alright. You’re not mad and it breaks your heart having to be so hard on him all of a sudden but it’s _not_ alright. He overstepped his place and he knows it. You can’t just let his outburst slide.

You let his head go, shaking off the honey blond strands that cling to your fingers. He whimpers at the loss of contact and you sigh. You really aren’t angry, but you figure he probably wishes you were. You know first hand how much more it sucks disappointing someone important to you over pissing them off.

He’s fallen quiet now, waiting for you to pass your judgement.

“What am I going to do with you?” You sigh, sounding just like your dad. He hangs his head, shoulders slumped. His whole body speaks of nothing but dejection. 

You can’t have him suck your dick now, can’t fuck him either. He likes that too much; it wouldn’t do to _reward_ him for doing wrong.

You can’t ground him either, hah.

You drag his desk chair over, spin it around so you can sit in it and still face your sub. He’s not following the sound of your movements anymore, sitting quiet and upset on his heels. You pull the blindfold off of him before you sit, chucking it carelessly onto his bed. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t look up when you sit or when you pull out your dick, _finally_.

“Dave.”

His eyes flick up towards you for just the briefest second. They’re wet and red, eyelashes clumped together. He sniffs when you sigh, and even with his face turned down, you can see the tears that drip down his cheeks.

“Dave, I’m not mad.” Your words are soft, soothing even, but he still croaks a miserable sound and it takes a serious amount of effort to keep your boner going as you murmur, “Come here, Dave.”

He shuffles forwards on his knees, never lifting his face, until his legs knock against the chair’s and his shoulders are wedged between your thighs. You brush his hair out of his face with the hand not on your dick.

One more, you resume petting his head, jerking off while he snurfles back snot. It’s the saddest wank of your _life_ , and not just because your sub, your _boyfriend_ is practically sobbing into your jeans. You’re practically obligated to get off, to drive home the point that _you_ are in charge. The decisions are yours to make and he’s in no place to be voicing any demands, not about anything, not during a scene, so you’ll come without him and you’ll spend the rest of the night assuring him that everything’s okay.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” he mumbles, cheek resting against your thigh, “Didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

He’s quiet for a long moment before he turns his face a little more in against your thigh, whimpering another apology.

“I know, Dave. It’s okay. You’ll do better next time, right?”

He nods. He’s solid and warm against your legs, his breath hot against the base of your dick. You will yourself to finish, manage mostly because your sub’s taking his punishment so well, even if your orgasm isn’t particularly intense.

You wipe your hand off on your jeans (such a bad habit you’ve gotten into, fuck), and nudge him up, palms against his wet cheeks while you fold yourself double over him to press your forehead to his.

“I’m proud of you, Dave,” you tell him, firmly, but kind, “You messed up, yes, but you took your punishment without complaint. You did good, Dave, I’m proud.

“I’m sure I can trust you won’t make the same mistake twice.”

You sound so much like your dad. You’d be creeped out if you didn’t think it was exactly what Dave needed.

He nods a little against you and says, “No, Sir, I won’t.”

“Good.”

You pat one cheek and press a quick kiss to his lips before you let him go, rolling the chair back to stand. You should probably go actually wash off your hand, but Dave is more important, so you shuck your jeans and use them to clean the spunk from between your fingers and off your dick, ditching them in the general direction of the laundry basket and return your dick to your underwear. Dave’s still kneeling, hasn’t moved hardly an inch. You squat back down, wrapping your arms around him; half just to hug him, half to reach the carabiner keeping his arms clipped together.

“How are your shoulders?” you ask once he’s free.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders immediately, all the metal on the cuffs cool against your skin but not actually all that cold, and he mumbles, “Fine,” against your neck. 

You help him up, stumble a foot and a half to bed with him still latched onto you. He doesn’t let go for you to pull up the blankets, doesn’t let go so you can take off the cuffs, doesn’t let go so you can set a god damned alarm for the morning and you don’t have the heart to make him.

You wake up with him drooling against your shoulder, one still-cuffed arm thrown across your chest, the other wedged between his ribs and yours. The clock is a blur of red but you infer it to read buttfuck early, considering it’s still dark outside the window and you sigh as you detangle yourself from your boyfriend.

You shuffle off to the bathroom to piss and grope for your phone to actually set an alarm when you get back. Dave grumbles at the sudden brightness of your screen, half awake, and you set your phone face down when you’re done, sitting beside him to fight the cuffs.

It’s a lot easier getting them off than putting them on, and you set them on the nightstand, out of the way. Dave resumes clinging to you as soon as you settle back into bed, tucking his head under your chin.

When your phone goes off, waking you both for real, he looks absolutely exhausted and you just really want to spend the day cuddling in bed and watching stupid movies. Alas, half your professors actually count attendance towards your grade and so you’re obligated to go.

You ask Dave if he’s okay a good twenty times before you even leave his house and then another half dozen times on the way to the bus stop and every time he just hums and nods, being a total zombie.

You hold his hand the entire bus ride, potentially judgemental stares be damned. Fuck the world, your sub needs reassurance. Making sure Dave’s okay is more important than some stranger’s opinion of you.

Dave just takes quiet, tired sips of his coffee, shades all the way up the bridge of his nose and face tilted towards the floor.

He also rubs his thumb across your knuckles, like a quiet promise that he’s okay.

**=== >**

You think you’re being kind of obnoxious with the way you keep texting Dave, but you’re _worried_. Last night was... a lot. It was _intense_ and totally overwhelming and the moment you left Dave to go to class, you regretted not ditching. He assures you that he’s fine every time he answers your texts.

You’re so worried about him you’re not even phased when Vriska quips, “Here comes your boyfriend, John,” drawling out the vowels in “boyfriend” in that way she has. You just twist to look in the same direction as her and, sure enough, there’s Dave. 

You latch onto his hand without even thinking when he catches up and he says, “‘Sup, wanna go get lunch?”

It’s closer to dinner than to lunch but you agree, and so do Vriska and Terezi, and Vriska says, incredulous, “So he’s actually your fucking boyfriend?”

Dave squeezes your fingers before letting his go slack, but you shrug and square your shoulders and go, “Yeah,” like you’re daring her to pick a fight about it.

She just scoffs; “Wow, god! Thaaaaaaaanks for telling me, asshole!”

**=== >**

TG : so bros gonna be gone all sunday  
TG : you come up with anything for an all day scene  
EB : idk vaguely?  
EB : would you be alright with being tied up for most of the day?  
TG : yeah should be okay  
TG : how  
EB : probably hands above your head again.  
TG : k  
TG : alternate between that and in front of me though  
TG : idk if my shoulders could go that long  
EB : okay. are they doing okay from the other night?  
TG : yeah was a little sore in the morning but fine  
EB : okay good :)  
EB : anything you want to do?  
TG : nothing too intense  
TG : and no blindfold this time if thats cool  
EB : sure <3  
EB : i will tie you up and spend all day coddling you <3  
TG : <3  
EB : you doing okay?  
TG : jesus dick dude im fine how many times do i gotta tell you  
EB : heheh a lot.  
EB : you still seem a little out of it. you sure you want to do another scene so soon?  
TG : yeah its cool  
EB : dave?  
TG : i wanna make it up to you  
EB : dave, you dont have to make anything up to me. it’s okay.  
TG : i know i still feel like shit  
EB : don’t, okay? it’s as much my fault as yours.  
TG : no it aint  
EB : yeah it is. i’ve let you get away with little demands like that before, and i pushed you into being so frustrated.  
TG : ive had plenty of doms before i know how to keep my mouth shut  
EB : i was goading you into it, dave.  
EB : you can’t say that i wasn’t.  
EB : it’s okay. i’m not mad and you won’t do it again so everything’s fine.  
EB : it happens. it’s okay.

**=== >**

You spend your afternoon plotting, zoning out in your class. It’s Friday though, so you’re not the only one. You just doubt anyone else is plotting how to best tie up their boyfriend.

You want to do something special but simple. A rope harness would probably be best; you could combine it with the cuffs he has, clip them to the harness itself or to the bed strap, or haul him around the apartment without without having to actually carry him.

Yeah. That’d definitely be best. Now the question is, did you actually bring your EMT shears to Texas with you, or do you need to buy another pair?

**=== >**

You find your shears in the pocket of your suitcase where you dumped a whole collection of miscellaneous things you didn’t want your dad to find and google informs you that there’s a Home Depot only a single bus away.

EB : you ever done shibari?  
TG : couple times yeah  
TG : that what you wanna do this weekend  
EB : yeah, if you’re down.  
TG : sure  
TG : you done this before  
EB : yep! jade let me practice on her, even before we started dating ahahah.  
EB : i’m pretty good at it for basically learning from the internet.  
TG : wow thats reassuring  
EB : aahaha i do actually know what i’m doing, don’t worry.  
EB : but we don’t have to if you’re not comfortable with it.  
TG : no dude im just giving you shit  
TG : calm your nips its cool  
TG : ive never done shibari as part of a scene im looking forward to it  
EB : <3  
TG : <3


	2. Chapter 2

John’s already in your apartment when you get off work. You come home to a hot dinner and a hot boyfriend who bats his eyelashes at you and says, “Welcome home. Would you like a bath or dinner first?”

You snerk, “Now who’s been watching too much anime?”

His resulting grin is wide and brilliant and beautiful.

“Dinner’s still got like, ten minutes so you totally have time to shower first if you want.”

“Sweet.”

You shower, return damp with your jimjams slung low on your hips just in time to see him pull out plates. It’s disgustingly domestic.

You really like it.

**=== >**

The morning of your big scene starts out slow, quiet; disgustingly domestic. John putters around like a housewife, bringing you your coffee and breakfast and he laughs when you make a quip about him bringing you the paper too.

(He doesn’t, but he totally could. One of your neighbors gets the Sunday. You know for sure because, six years later, you still trip over it on your way out of the building. They don’t ever pick it up ‘til Tuesday.)

You don’t even notice how he’s got you wrapped around his fingers until, halfway through morning cartoons, he leans into you and murmurs, “Room, now.”

His order is firm and terse, but his voice is still warm and you stand without even thinking about it. It dawns on you suddenly that he never asked if you wanted any of the things he took care of for you this morning like he usually does. He knows your routine well enough, subtly warped it until it was about him telling you what to do, your entire day in his control right from the start.

You can’t decide if it’s douchey or genius, but you’re standing in the middle of your room, his fingers sliding under the waistband of your jimjams as he kisses your neck, sweet and possessive. You’re already sporting a semi, relaxed against him. You’re safe in his hands, at his mercy.

He slides your pants down, palms across your bare ass, has you step out of them before he pulls away to crouch in front of his bag. He pulls out an intense length of rope, scissors, a crumpled square of fabric; you hear the bell when he palms it. The rope is set at your feet, the scissors dropped in his pocket and the fabric tossed to the bed behind you.

He picks your left hand, winds one end of string around your middle finger, ties it neatly. It’s tight enough to stay but loose enough not to cut off circulation and you’ve never seen a knot so done so perfect. The bell itself the size of an acorn, cold and metallic yellow in your palm. He wraps your fingers around it, kisses your knuckles when your fist is closed.

Your dom should not be allowed to be this adorable.

He picks up one end of the coil of rope, rewinding it around his arm the same way you and your bro wind up cables and after a handful of revolutions, he pulls the shears from his pocket and snips a clean line. You watch as he swaps out the scissors for a lighter, melting the freshly cut end. He’s very precise, very well practiced. Eridan was no where near as good as he is.

John finds the middle of the rope he’s using with sharp, smooth jerks of his hand, the ends fisted firmly in his left, perfectly measured loops added one by one under his thumb. The knot he throws two inches from the bite is a work of art.

Your boner jabs him in the hip when he tosses the rope over your head and he leans up to kiss you with a grin. He circles you to adjust the positioning of the knot against your spine, returning to stand in front of you, fingers in the ropes. You get another knot just under the divot of your collar bone, then a third a little below the bottom of your sternum. The last he has to redo because, he tells you quietly, it would end up right above your belly ring and he doesn’t want it to catch on the rope.

He nudges your legs apart and circles back around, pulling the rope between your legs. You feel it slide against your back as he loops it through the bite. It dangles awkwardly around you, slack and strange against your skin. John’s tying style is way different from Eridan’s.

Then again, Eridan tied you up over a full suit and learned the skill specifically for artistic purposes. John’s definitely not doing this for the sake of art. You can feel the hard on contained in his pants as he leans into you, adjusting how the ropes lay. 

He weaves the ends around your ribs, down to your hips. You end up with... thigh holsters. You’re going to go with thigh holsters because that is a lot more masculine than garters, which is what it actually looks like. He’s wrapped the ends through where the rope loops under your junk, pulling the rope to either side, so instead of crawling up your ass crack, it lays along the lines of your pelvis and under either buttcheek. Suddenly, the extra slack makes sense.

His fingers tug on the ropes again, top to bottom, and it feels like you’re being laced into a corset. He pulls them snug against your skin, knotting them at your thighs before he feeds the extra up, along your hip bones until they meet, then up your belly, cutting a line along your middle. He knots it at the bottom of your ribs, goes up another rung only to double back, knotting it together maybe two inches away. He wraps the last of the rope around the slack he left, fumbles the very last knot with a frown.

You have a fucking handle at the front of your ribs.

You’re a piece of god damned carry on.

“Damn, couple inches too short.”

The ends don’t line up perfectly anymore, one maybe half an inch longer than the other, but other than that everything’s fucking perfect, amazingly symmetrical. You can’t help the sarcastic, disbelieving snort that he’s disgruntled at a completely unnoticeable flaw.

Then you flinch a little at your own bad behaviour, but John just laughs it off, tugging you down a little by your fucking _handle_ to press his lips against yours.

“Does it feel alright?” he asks you, good naturedly.

You nod and reply with a demure, “Yes sir.”

He hushes you, kisses you again; “I’m not going to be too strict with what you get to say,” he tells you, “You do not get to make demands -- “ you wince at his reference of your previous failings, “ -- but if you need anything, tell me. If the ropes are ever uncomfortable, tell me. If you want to stop or take a break, tell me. The bell is for if I decide to gag you, which I am planning on doing. Jingle it if you need my attention. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Do you need any clarification?”

Your voice catches in your throat just briefly, but you still manage to breathe out, “What are you going to do?”

“Dote on you mostly. Gonna cuff you too and fuck you at least once, but other than that, I’m just gonna wing it,” he shrugs, “Any requests?”

“Can I blow you?”

“Sure!” He grins and rubs his nose against yours; “Do you wanna see how you look?”

You shrug. The motion feels strange against the ropes, but not uncomfortable. His grin is brilliant as he pulls you down the hall, fingers wrapped firm around your handle. You could see most of his handiwork but the full effect of it reflected back at you in the mirror is breathtaking. You can see what he meant about the lack of length though; the handle does look a little strange with only the top half wrapped neatly but it’s negated by how easily he can haul you around, fuck, plus the ropes cast a fantastic frame around your cock, beautifully wrap your chest. 

The ropes make your ass look great too, hot damn.

John’s giddy next to you, waiting for you to say something.

“Shit, hang me up in the Louvre.”

His smile threatens to consume his face and you’re pinned to the wall hardly a breath later, just barely missing the towel rack. He uses the ropes around your ass to drag your hips to his, biting your throat. You melt into him, groaning.

He pulls away just as quickly as he pinned you, leaving you dazed and breathless and so fucking hard.

He’s rougher when he drags you back to the bedroom, yanks on the harness you’re wrapped in when you don’t move fast enough. The rope bites deliciously into your skin, the pressure spread out across your torso, and then he practically throws you onto the bed. You roll into it, landing with a comfortable bounce. Your momentum has your matress sliding across your box spring, and then John’s on top of you, crawling between your legs.

“Good?” he asks. You nod, roll your hips into his as soon as he’s close enough. He laughs a little, breathless and happy, and goes back to sucking bruises across your throat. He’s intentionally only going after the places you can’t cover, like you even would.

He lets you hump him, your hands fisted in his shirt, until you’re gasping and desperate, and then he bats your arms away, pinning your wrists to the bed.

“We have all day, you know,” he murmurs into your ear. 

You force yourself to relax under him, taking a deep breath. He trails a hand down your throat, the fingers on the other lacing with yours. You shudder and swallow, arching your neck against his palm.

“Then again,” he rumbles with a throaty chuckle that has your toes curling, “we have all day.”

Fuck pinning you down by your arms. He pins by your throat and your hips, and you cough a surprised curse as you shoot your load between you.

He keeps steady, even pressure against your windpipe as you tremble with the force of your orgasm, hips rocking against yours all the while. He’s not just limiting your ability to breathe, he’s stopping it completely, and it’s fantastic. You push instinctual panic away as your vision goes fuzzy around the edges, lungs burning. He releases you a split second before drop the bell, and you can feel the wet mess you left across his shirt as he slides up your body, smearing your spunk even more.

“Sorry, sorry. You okay?” he asks, pressing worried kisses to your cheeks, “Too far?”

You shake your head no, clinging to his shoulders as you wheeze, sucking down air like you’re dying.

“You sure?”

You nod again and wheeze, “Almost.”

“Is that almost sure or almost too much?”

“Almost too much.”

It wasn’t even a full thirty seconds, but your throat feels raw, your head thrumming with oxygen deprivation. Your adrenaline high has you shaking and fuck.You came almost painfully hard.

John drags you across the bed, laying you down the middle in the correct direction. You watch through half lidded eyes as he straddles your hips, leaning over you to grab the cuffs left on your nightstand. He gets the on you surprisingly quick, for all the difficulty they like to present and your current inability to give any fucks. Your limbs are like jello when he pulls your arms overhead, clipping your wrists together and then to your restraint strap.

“How’re you doing?” he asks.

“Awesome.”

You’re blitzed the fuck out and you sound it, fuck. You wheeze out a little laugh, half grinning as you droop in your bonds. He smiles in return, cupping your face to kiss you. You’re completely pliant under him, opening your mouth obediently at the slightest insistence. His tongue traces the back of your teeth and yours feels clumsy as you try to participate.

“You’re really cute,” he murmurs against the corner of your mouth, thumbs stroking your cheeks. You make a noise in response and he snickers.

He climbs off you then, and the air is chilly without his warm body over yours. You let your head drop to the side, cradled against your bicep, to watch him strip down. Your spunk traced lines across his shirt, obvious against the dark fabric. There’s a thick glob still clinging to the fly of his pjs too, caught at the top of the tent his dick creates. He’s still hard, really fucking hard, as he shimmies out of his pants, boxers snug around his hips. You lick your lips and he grins at you, waggling his eyebrows as he gives himself a squeeze.

He doesn’t get naked. He pulls on a pair of his cargo shorts, transferring the scissors from his jimjams to his his khakis before he shrugs into a shirt. You bite your lip, watching his muscles shift as he pulls the shirt over his head and it’s almost a shame he’s not going to spend the day shirtless, but almost worth it for how hot he makes getting dressed look. The shirt he’s chosen for the day, however, is tight and white, a v-neck; probably one of yours and it hugs his shoulders beautifully, so you can’t really complain.

He leaves the spizz spattered against your stomach the way it is, settling down on the bed next to you, 360 controller in hand. He watches some stupid movie from the eighties while you watch his dick and the way he reaches down to palm it.

Twenty minutes into the movie, you’re frustratingly hard just from looking.

Halfway through, he stops pulling his hand away from his cock and you bite your tongue against the needy noises you want to make.

By the hour mark, you’re rocking your hips up into the air as he slowly jerks himself, shorts unzipped and hand down the front of his boxers. You can tell he’s paying more attention to you than his movie now, watching you out of the corner of his eyes. You manage maybe another ten minutes before you twists in your bonds, pressing your body against his as best you can. He turns his face to look at you then, smirking when you whimper, “Please.”

“I donno...”

He sits up anyway, leaning into you. His dick is hard against your hip, so fucking hard, when he reaches up, squeezes the tip of each of your fingers. Your cuffs are loose enough not to cut off circulation, well padded just for that reason, but it’s a sweet gesture nonetheless.

“Your arms okay?” he asks. You nod and he goes, “Cool,” before straddling your chest. A groan slips out before you can stop it, but it just makes his smirk spread. You give negative fucks. He’s unbelievably attractive hovering over you, one hand on your headboard, the other nudging the waistband of his boxers down with a thumb.

You swear to fuck this is a scene straight out of a porn.

John pulls his dick out, fucking finally, and it’s like a chorus of angels have come down from the heavens just for the occasion. It’s flushed pretty and slick with pre, and you watch it ‘til you go cross eyed as John nudges it towards your face.

Your lips part obediently. 

It’s fucking glorious when you’re finally able to wrap your mouth around him. Your toes curl as you suck on the tip, pressing the metal through your tongue against the underside. You relish the gasp he gives, arching up to suck down just a little more of him.

This isn’t the greatest position to give head in, but he leans into you, sway backed, to fit a little more of his dick down your throat. He’s taken up your entire field of vision, wrapping around your whole world.

He thrusts in and you let your jaw relax so he can fuck your face however he wants. He does exactly that, rolling his hips against your face, the head of his dick sliding against the roof of your mouth. You wish you could pull him closer, have him pressed all the way down your throat ‘til you can’t breathe again. You content yourself with hollowing your cheeks as you suck on him, tongueing the underside.

He’s panting, and you can just barely see his flushed face when you look up. You make a noise in the back of your throat that makes him shudder. You, in turn, squeeze your thighs together, desperate for any sort of friction against your dick. Arching under him, you roll your hips and whimper around your faceful of dick.

“You keep that up and I won’t be able to hold back,” he chides.

You groan, eyes rolled back, and he chuckles a little, fingers squeezing around his dick. He pulls out of your mouth, much to your disappointment, but your lips are left free to hiss a litany of _please_ es, desperate and needy, and it’s worth it for the way his breath hitches as he jerks off over you. You kiss and lick at any bit of him that comes close enough in between your begging until he pushes your head back into the pillows, forcing your jaw open with his thumb.

He paints your lips and teeth and tongue and half your face white and scoots down your body while you’re still reeling. You’re so close just from _him_ that when he puts his lips on your dick, you seize up and explode.

You feel like you’ll feel bad for coming so suddenly but he hasn’t said anything about it, just crawls back up to kiss you.

To tongue your own jizz into your mouth.

_Fuck_.

“So I’m thinking pizza for lunch?” he says while you still have a mouthful of his spit and your spunk like you’re from a fucking Kevin Smith movie.

At least he’s not suggesting a donkey show.

You swallow -- it’s disgusting, but how casually he fucking snowballed you is hot as shit, holy fuck -- and nod, wide eyed and stunned. He just grins, sits back in your lap, and procures his phone. He thumbs idly at your dick while he orders the pizza, cool as a cucumber, and you really hope the breathy little sounds you keep making aren’t being picked up by his phone.

He hangs up and leans back over you, reaching up to unhook your cuffs. He helps you bring your arms down too, bracing your elbows. You hiss a breath out through your teeth; it doesn’t hurt but you’re stiff as shit from staying in the same position for so long. You’re clipped instead to the handle on the front of your rope harness and he rubs at your arms, kneading your shoulders with his fingertips. You groan when he digs his thumbs against the joint itself, eyes flickering closed.

“Doing okay?” he asks. You nod and hum as his fingers work the knots in the meat across the top of your shoulders. He pecks your nose and says, “Good. We’ve got about twenty until the pizza’s here. Anything you need?”

You take inventory : you’ll probably want to take some aspirin in the relatively near future to counteract the inflammation in your shoulders but they’re okay for now; the rope feels fine around you, your throat’s no longer all that sore but it may or may not bruise; you’re getting hungry but, hah, pizza and you’ll want to down some water but that can wait ‘til lunch you’re sure, along with the aspirin.

“I’m good.”

“Cool.”

He starts up some cartoons while you wait, snuggled against you.

You’re both half dozing when the buzzer sounds. John jerks back awake and almost slides off the edge of the bed, laughing when the delivery guy jabs the buzzer a couple more times. You’re pulled up, gentle hands tugging you off the bed and you follow John down the hall. John buzzes the guy in before he returns to you, nudging you into place. You’re, apparently, to keep sentry just out of sight, like a really kinky gargoyle with your arms folded up against your chest.

Wait, you’re a kinky t-rex. Damn.

There’s a knock on the door and John swings it open, catching it just before you’re in sight. He exchanges his money for the pizza, swapping pleasantries like the suburban goon he is, all while you’re butt fucking naked right next to him, tied up and splattered with spunk.

John’s grin when he turns back to you, door firmly shut and locked, is devious. It is the sort of devious grin that has you shivering with all the possible things he has in store for you and the way his eyes flick down along your body tells of how he’s completely aware of your thrill seeking nature. You’ve a tired semi going on, no thanks to his eyes on you, your arms still awkwardly folded against your chest, and now you’re a horny, kinky t-rex.

A horny, kinky t-rex that is totally going to decimate the pizza he’s holding.

You heard him back to your room this time, flapping your raptor arms at him. You’re tempted to make raptor noises as well, but your dick’s hanging out and you’d probably sound like a dying whale. John laughs like a loon.

“I hope you know now we have to watch Jurassic Park!”

“Hey, you’re the one who tied me up like a dino’s wet dream.”

He sputters and pushes you back down onto the bed, swooping in to peck you on the lips. You kiss him back, happily, and when he pulls away, you tell him, “Go get me some aj, you dork.”

A heartbeat later, you add a _please_ , embarassed by your slip up. He just smooches you, wet and noisy and gross before hopping up.

You’re left alone for maybe thirty seconds before he comes back, bottle of sweet, sweet aj in one hand and a pair of cups in the other.

Fuck, you forgot about the aspirin. Damn.

John helps you into sitting criss cross in front of the pizza, balancing now full cups on the box as soon as you’re settled.

He got fucking stuffed crust too. Your boyfriend is a god.

“You gonna untie me?” You intend your question to be passive, but you come off flippant instead and you grimace.

John gives you a look that may or may not be a warning. You realize you’re fucking up in these tiny ways that, before, you could get away with when now you really, really can’t, but it’s hard maintaining your role when the two of you keep cracking jokes.

He doesn’t verbally admonish you any though, giving you nothing more than a quirked eyebrow and the flat look that had you flinching before he leans into you, sitting so close you’re plastered together from knee to shoulder. He picks up the first piece and you’re left to watch him eat it, able to do nothing more than clutch the stupid fucking bell your sweaty palm is wrapped around.

“Aw, Dave, don’t be sad. Here,” he pokes the end of his crust at your lips and you take a cautious bite.

He feeds you a whole piece like that, just one carefully positioned bite after another, and it’s the sweetest thing but at the same time, it’s humiliating as fuck. You’re on lock down, unable to jack shit under your own free will without calling time out.

He swaps out the pizza for the cup of juice, tipping it back against your lips almost too quickly. You just barely manage to swallow what he pours into your mouth and you still end up with a dribble down your chin. He licks it away for you and you groan.

“Wow, you’re really into this,” he says, tapping one finger against the tip of your dick. Your breath hitches at the touch and you topple the fuck over when he leans into you to give you a firm stroke, out of the blue and fantastic.

And then he lets go. Really, you should know by now that, for as sweet as John is, he’s not always that nice.

You keep your complaints locked behind your teeth and you’re rewarded with a fond pat on your thigh and a quiet, “Good boy, Dave.”

The praise, however little, makes you all warm and fuzzy inside.

“You done eating?” he asks. You nod; “Want anymore apple juice?”

“Like I’d say no to aj.”

John snickers and helps you back up, putting your cup to your lips. He’s a little more careful, you guess, this time. None of your juice dribbles down your face, and you’re almost disappointed; you like how much of a mess he’s making you.

He kisses you when you’re done, hand fisted in your hair and tongue behind your teeth. You whimper, toes curled in your sheets, and then he slams you back. You bounce with a gasp, teeth rattling. John steadies you with a hand on your hip, ensuring roll onto your back. You shudder as your dick slides across the ropes so lovingly wrapped around you, settling along the line of your hip bone.

You get to watch as John devourers a couple of slices himself, flicking through your netflix queue until he finds something apparently suitable. He ends up passing over Jurassic Park in favour of one of the really terrible Godzillas, folding up the pizza box with maybe a slice and a half left inside to ditch it on your desk. On the way back to the bed, he grabs his bag, settling back next to you with his laptop.

He doesn’t ignore you. Rather, you fade to the background like an oversized cat curled against his hip as he works on a paper, with the occasional moments of his hand on your flesh. Your arousal fades within twenty minutes and when your shitty Godzilla flick ends, he starts up another equally hilarabad movie for you.

You spend most the time he spends on his paper with your bell balanced against your chest, giving your hand a rest from clutching at it. You want to wipe the sweat from your palm too but you don’t want to jingle the bell, so you deal. It’s not that bad anyway, you guess. Just gross.

By the time he shuts down his laptop, it’s past six and you’ve had to pee for the greater part of this movie. You didn’t want to interrupt him though, so you’re relieved as fuck when he turns to you and asks, “How’re you doing?”

“Need to take a leak,” you mumble back to him, frowning at his snicker. You can feel how your face has heated up. He helps you stand though, twisting the carabiner attaching your cuffs to your harness around until he can unclip your left hand and only your left hand, and you’re left to awkwardly step away. He stays seated, lounged up against your headboard and very obviously not coming with you.

You take two more steps towards the door before you ask, “Can I grab some aspirin while I’m up too?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s really weird for you to shuffle off alone. You do it anyway, leaving a trail of open doors in your wake because you just really _can’t_ shut a door behind you, not during a scene, not even to piss in private. It’s fucking _wrong_ to. It makes you nervous just being able to walk around freely. Sort of. The wrist of your off hand is still pinned to your chest but you could uncuff yourself so easily, especially since you’re not even in your dom’s line of sight.

You have to cup the bell against your palm with your pinky in order to point your dick at the toilet, ditching out on washing your hands, _hand_ , so you don’t end up with a fist full of soggy string on top of a sweaty palm. By the time you snatch the bottle of aspirin off the top of the fridge, popping three into your mouth to be swallowed dry, the only reason you’re not running is because your legs are long enough to reach Kansas fucking City in a single stride.

John’s calmly chilled out on the bed when you get back. He eyes you as you hesitate in the doorway, before tilting his head next to the empty spot next to him. You shuffle over, circling the bed to crawl onto it. You lay out next to him after he clips your left wrist back in place, waiting for your next instruction.

He sounds just like he did that first time he asked about anal when he says, “I’m going to fuck you now, if, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Cool!” He grins, but still looks a little nervous, which is stupid. This isn’t his first time sticking his dick in your ass, after all.

Then you realize you’re tied up. He’s always just stuck his dick in you; you’ve done the rest of the work and it takes way too much effort not to sputter in laughter because he’s awkward about sticking his fingers up your butt. As it is, your lips wobble as you fight a grin and he rolls his eyes.

“Okay, how would be best?”

You’re almost surprised he isn’t just rolling you over. Then again, your arms are still tied against your chest and it would probably really bad for you to have the cuffs latched onto your bed strap while you’re face down. Maybe flat on your face would be okay, but not with your ass in the air.

You don’t get a chance to answer before he muses to himself, “Probably on your back, huh?”

You nod and he drags you over a couple of inches, straddling your waist once again to shift your wrists from your chest to back above your head. He even braces them for you the entire way, gentle fingers around your elbows, and you’re so fucking thankful for it. You’ll definitely be sore; the aspirin hasn’t kicked in for you yet and you make a mental note to humbly request a pair of icepacks after this round, but you’re doing well enough.

“You okay?” he asks. You breathe an affirmative and he grins as he pecks you on the lips. “Okay, good.”

He scoots back, settling just above your knees with his weight, thankfully, just barely on you. His lips trail down your face and along your neck, tongue against the hickies he left earlier. You tilt your head back for him as much as you can, arching up into his touch as his hands skim down your chest, fingers bumping over the rope you’re wrapped in.

He touches the barbels through your nipples, fondling your tits momentarily before he slithers down farther, touching his tongue against them in turn. You’re a little more invested in his palm against your hip, tantalizingly close to your dick. He shifts his weight, nudging one knee between yours and you gasp a quiet moan as he has you spread your legs, warm fingers trailing along the inside of your thigh.

His other knee joins the first as he kisses your belly and slick fingers slide down your taint. You have no idea where he keeps magically pulling lube from when you’re not paying attention, but it’s probably the best superpower in existence. 

You inhale deep, relaxing as he prods around like a total noob, and then he’s pressing knuckle deep into you. You release your breath in a slow, quiet moan, wordlessly assuring him he’s doing fine.

And he is doing fine. He’s fingering you slow and careful, drawing it out way farther than you’d even bother, but it’s nice. The anticipation gathering in your gut is even better, because you’re sure that, for however sweet he’s being with his fingers, he’s going to be hard and fast when he replaces them with his dick.

“How’re you, Dave?” he croons.

You’re immediately gasping back, “Good,” as he crooks his fingers up.

“Just good?”

“Really good, fuck.”

“And how good is really good?”

You groan. The way John’s voice has gone husky, rumbling in his chest with every question, is hot as fuck. You’re quickly dropping back into subspace for real.

“Well, Dave?”

Shit.

_Fuck_.

You have to have an answer and words just aren’t coming.

You manage to sputter out, “Good, amazing, fuck, so good.”

“And what do you want me to do now?”

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me _please_ fuck me.”

Aaand your off, spewing whatever nonsense comes to mind, begging for him with every breath as you squirm under his weight.

He slides his fingers out of you and you arch your hips up eagerly, wanting so bad to be patient while he lubes himself up. You’re pretty certain your needy wordvomit doesn’t actually involve you begging for him to hurry, which is probably a good thing. You do know that every other word out of your mouth is _please_ , closely followed by _fuck me_ , and there’s a part of you in the corner of your mind wishing you didn’t sound like a broken record.

The head of his dick against your ass is glorious when he finally goes to push into you.

Except he doesn’t.

He’s pressed against you, hard and hot and fully fucking dressed, lips to your neck and so fucking close to where you want him, where you _need_ him, the dirty fucking tease.

You whimper and you can feel the way he grins against your throat when he purrs, “Well.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

You can’t. You just really can’t.

You think you hiss something along the likes of, “Please, I need you,” except with ten times the number of _please_ es.

And John, the wonderful bastard, says, “What was that?”

“Please fuck me, Sir, I need you, please -- “

Your breath is knocked out of you when he thrusts in all of a sudden. Your eyes roll back and there’s about a three second pause where you just _bask_ in the feeling of having your dom’s sweet ass dick in you.

The moment you start gasping out words again, he covers your mouth with his hand. You shut up immediately, trembling as his dick twitches in you and he sits up. He pulls out that cloth again, from who knows where, you’re not paying attention, except now you fucking realize it’s a pair of your underwear.

“You’ve still got the bell, right?” You nod and he smiles; “Good. Open up.”

You do, and he balls your fucking underwear up over your tongue. They smell like his laundry soap and dryer lint and you bite down on them when he goes from just sitting in you to fucking you hard and fast in half a heartbeat.

“That really doesn’t do much to gag you,” he breaths, laughing a little. It really doesn’t. You’re still noisy as fuck, moaning like a bitch in heat but you can’t _help_ it. He’s got you tied up and gagged, shins against his shoulders, his fingers on one hand in the rope around your hips to drag you where he wants you, and you’re so completely at his mercy. You have been, all day, and he has so attentively cared for you, all day.

Even when he comes first, he stays balls deep in you while he jerks you off, filling you with the youthful, +4 to boners bonus he has. He doesn’t even complain when you take forever and a half to get off ‘cause this is your third full official orgasm of the day and you’re an old ass motherfucker. He wrings you dry, lips against the hollow of your throat and you may just actually invest in a scarf or something; you’re betting you’re gonna turn out with more spots than a leopard. But then, you’re a smug motherfucker when you get to go around marked for the world to see.

You’re fucking exhausted when he finally pulls out, your stomach and his shirt a sticky mess, again. He has to strip down to his boxers, again, lube covering the crotch of his shorts on top of your spunk across this shirt too. He doesn’t clean you up though, just tosses his shirt towards your laundry pile while his shorts flop to the floor and he flops to your side.

“You doing okay?” he asks, fingers playing over the ropes carving your chest into diamonds. You nod; “How’re your shoulders?”

“Sore as shit.” You’re not sure if the aspirin did kick in and you just pushed too hard, or if it hasn’t and you’re just shitballs out of luck. You almost regret your frankness when John sits up, instantly unclipping your arms, his face tinged with alarm. You snort, “I’m fine. Normal aches and pains, babe. Joints aren’t supposed to stay stationary for so long and mine are pretty fucked to begin with so I’m a little extra tender. It’s _fine_.”

His hands sit on your shoulders, thumbs pressed hard against the joint again and you melt. The rough pressure probably doesn’t much help your inflammation any but it feels godly.

“D’you need anything?”

You hum; “Ice packs and a shower, pro’lly. Not in that order.”

“Okay.”

He kisses you sweetly, lips against your forehead and then the tip of your nose and you sigh when his hands leave your aching shoulders. They’re not a lot worse than they were earlier, but you must’ve pulled on your restraints without noticing, ‘cause they ache more than they would just from not moving ‘em.

John’s fingers are warm against your thighs too, as he undoes the knots to either side of you. You have to sit up, kneeling in front of him, for him to actually unwind the rope without giving you friction burn and it takes a lot more effort than you’d like to stay upright. He lets you droop against his shoulder though, your arms around his waist and your face pressed to his neck.

The feel of his hands against your back is soothing and all too quickly, you have to sit back so he can pull the rope from over your head. It still has knots down it and you can see where your jizz has crusted over in the fibers but he just wraps it up, looping it around itself, and flings it towards his bag.

“You look really good tied up,” he tells you as he unbuckles the cuffs from around your wrists. You grin in return, nudging closer to him.

“Well then, you’ll have to do it more often.”

“That can be arranged.”


End file.
